


Grown Men Don't Just Faint

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal knows that grown men don't just faint for no obvious reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grown Men Don't Just Faint

Grown men don’t just faint for no obvious reason. There are usually warning signs of some kind – illness or fever, often, or injury, or at least a murmured ‘I don’t feel so good’.

So when Face just drops to the floor in midsentence, eyes rolling straight back into his head, Hannibal is entirely unprepared. He fails to catch his lover, though he makes a desperate lunge across the kitchen with outstretched arms, and Face lands heavily with a thud on the tiled floor. His head makes an awful crunching sound as it bounces once, before he lies very still in a crumpled mess of limp arms and legs.

“Face! What’s wrong?” Hannibal is immediately on his knees by his lover’s side, hands fluttering over the still body, resisting the urge to simply turn the unconscious man over onto his back, or scoop him straight up into his arms. He needs to find out what happened first, what warning signs he must have missed. “Open your eyes for me, Face? Come on, kid. Answer me!”

Thundering footsteps coming down the stairs suggest Murdock has heard the commotion, but Hannibal stays focused on Face, one hand brushing gently through messy curls, the other reaching for the pulse at his throat, calling all the time for the younger man to wake up.

“Hannibal?” Murdock sounds worried, terrified even, dropping to the floor beside the colonel. “Face? What happened, boss?”

Hannibal doesn’t answer him. “He’s got a pulse,” he notes out loud instead, relief thundering in his veins even as the concern starts to build when the unconscious man doesn’t move. “It’s slow, though. Very slow.”

When Hannibal checks, there is a knot already forming behind Face’s right ear from where he hit the floor so hard. Hannibal thinks briefly that he should’ve been quicker, should’ve moved faster, should’ve caught his boy – but there will be time for blame later, when Face is okay.

Murdock lays a desperate hand on his best friend’s shoulder, though he shakes him very gently. Face doesn’t even stir. Now, Hannibal doesn’t know if his lover is unresponsive because of the head injury or because of whatever caused his collapse in the first place. What could he possibly have missed?

“Uh oh,” Murdock suddenly says. “Did Face drink the water?”

“Yes.” A whole bottle of drinking water, left out on the kitchen table. Hannibal tears his gaze away from his lover’s pale, lax features to glare at his pilot instead, putting two and two together immediately. “What did you do?” 

“It was for BA. So Face didn’t have to stick him with another needle.”

Hannibal growls, even as he starts shifting Face into a rough recovery position. “How much?” he barks, keeping his hands gentle, wary of that head injury. Needing to know, but at the same time really not wanting to hear the answer. “Murdock! How much did you put in the water?”

A whimper. “The whole vial,” the pilot whispers, and Hannibal’s heart clenches tight with fear, even as Face’s heart flutters slowly beneath his searching fingers.

“Don’t do this to me, Face,” he tells his lover firmly, wincing as he forces his fingers into the younger man’s open mouth, trying to trigger his gag reflex. “Come on, baby. Bring it up.”

A whole vial of a particularly strong sedative, the one they use to get BA onto an aircraft of any kind. Usually just a few drops in a glass of milk is enough to do the trick. Or a few millilitres injected into muscle. Face has become surprisingly good at tricking BA, though BA has become unsurprisingly wary around Face at the beginning of a new job.

A whole vial is perhaps as much as six or seven doses. This is bad.

“I thought Bosco would only have a couple of sips,” Murdock tells him, as Hannibal finally gets Face’s stomach to contract automatically, and the unconscious man coughs up a small amount of water onto the kitchen floor. Not enough, Hannibal registers in near-despair, repeating the process again and trying to keep his lover steady.

“BA’s still out getting a part for the recording equipment we need,” he tells the pilot quickly. “Face downed the whole bottle in one.”

“Oh god oh god oh god…” Murdock’s hands join the effort to brace Face’s limp body as his stomach empties again, more violently this time, stroking his friend’s back slowly. “I’m so sorry. Face, come on buddy, please…”

“Face, Temp, open your eyes.” Nothing. Hannibal carefully lifts his lover’s eyelids as Murdock throws a towel over the spreading puddle of vomit on the floor, not at all surprised to see black pupils blown wide already, very little blue visible. “Please, baby, please. For me, kid.”

Not good, he knows, as Face’s pulse flutters slower still against his desperate fingertips. BA is a big man, all muscle and very little body fat – the sedative they have to use to knock him out in mere seconds is a powerful one, strong enough to knock out a horse. Hannibal experienced it himself once, when Face tripped and the needle went into his thigh rather than BA’s arm, and the next twenty four hours had been a blur of dizziness and nausea. After an initial two hour nap.

Murdock had enough resistance to drugs after years of experimental drug cocktails, so the sedative made him woozy but didn’t last very long. Face, on the other hand…

“Wake up, Face, wake up.” Murdock sounds close to tears, but Hannibal can’t spare a hand to calm him down. “I’m so sorry, buddy. Wake up.”

“Come on,” he murmurs, pressing one hand to his lover’s chest. Face is barely breathing now, his chest only rising and falling minutely. And Hannibal’s panic grows.

Face doesn’t react well to certain drugs. He has no actual allergies, but some sensitivities, and he tends to get the worst possible side effects. He’s absolutely hilarious after anaesthesia, almost drunk for at least a day after a major operation – Hannibal has always been strangely glad of that fact, as it means Face is usually high as a kite during the worst of the pain. Over-the-counter drugs are normally no bother at all for him, but strong antibiotics make Face sick to his stomach, and a single dose of Morphine leaves him sleepy and weak for several days afterwards.

The one previous time Face experienced BA’s sedative, he’d been deeply unconscious for almost twenty hours, heartbeat slow and breathing shallow. Hannibal had been on the verge of taking his lover to the hospital then, after only a fraction of the dose they normally gave BA.

This time, after at least six full doses in one go, there’s no question at all in his mind. “Murdock, bring the van around to the front.”

“Hannibal, I’m sorry – ”

“Now, Captain!” Scampering feet as Murdock hurries from the kitchen, and Hannibal swallows down his anger. His pilot had meant well, he knows, though as usual he’s gone about things in his own way without thinking things through or telling anyone. And this time it was Face who was bearing the brunt of the fallout. 

Though Hannibal knows he’ll have to be ready to restrain BA from actually killing Murdock when the big guy finds out what has happened and why.

“Come on, baby. Up we go.” He lifts Face’s dead weight as carefully as he can, cradling his lover against his chest, wary of that egg-sized lump on his head. A drug overdose complicated by a head injury – they have no choice but to get Face to a hospital, and quickly. 

Grown men don’t just faint for no obvious reason, after all, though Hannibal wishes with all his heart that Face had simply swooned into his arms from heat exhaustion, or a sudden shock.

As he steps carefully over the towel, he gently presses a kiss to his lover’s clammy forehead, hurrying out to the waiting van as fast as he dares. “Keep breathing, Face,” he whispers, savouring the faint huffs of air he can feel against his neck. “Hang on for us. Hang on for me.”

* * *

Murdock is hovering. Hannibal can feel the pilot’s presence, just outside the bedroom door, though the younger man doesn’t come in. Hasn’t come in since they returned from the hospital three days ago. But he hovers, Hannibal knows, just in case he is needed. In case he can do anything for his best friend.

Face will be fine, in time. The hospital had kept him in for twenty four hours of observation, after they pumped his stomach. Put him on IV fluids, monitored his heart and kidneys, ran test after test. No concussion, thankfully, and no apparent complications. As soon as Face opened his eyes and was alert enough to answer the doctors’ questions in a tired slur, Hannibal swept him away. Carried his lover back home, put him to bed, hooked up another IV, and just held him close.

Lots of sleep, and time, and Face will be just fine. Hannibal tightens his arms ever so slightly, feeling the sleeping man snuggle a little closer instinctively, and tells himself again that his lover really will be okay. Face is just tired, more than anything, and very clingy. When Hannibal slipped out of the bed last night to take a quick shower and shave, BA had taken his place in order to keep watch. Hannibal had returned to the amusing sight of Face wrapped around BA’s chest like a limpet, arms locked, completely dead to the world and snoring softly.

BA had been smiling, his own big arms wrapped around his friend, dark eyes watching him closely. 

But Murdock is hovering, and he doesn’t come in. Hannibal isn’t angry with him any longer, not really, and he won’t shout – he knows the pilot meant no harm, and he knows nothing like this will ever happen again. Nothing quite like this, anyway. With Murdock there will always be something else. 

Murdock is suffering enough from his own feelings of guilt right now. BA had even given him a black eye when the two men fought briefly outside the hospital, before Hannibal could pull them apart. BA’s anger as always burned strong but brief, and Hannibal understands it’s just his own way of showing how worried he is over Face’s condition. Though Hannibal also knows the big guy has been keeping a close watch on Murdock while Hannibal has barely left Face’s side, forgiveness implied if not spoken aloud.

The job was put on hold, of course, the client given no details but a whole load of excuses. Face will be able to smooth the waters when he’s back on his feet, Hannibal knows, but right now he doesn’t care even remotely about the job. They’ll drive there when they have to move. None of them will want to go near another vial of sedative for a long time, not after a scare like this.

So close. If they’d waited a little longer before taking Face to the hospital, if Murdock had put just a few more drops into that bottle of water, if Face had gone into cardiac arrest or respiratory failure, if his kidneys or even his heart had suffered permanent damage…

A snuffle against his neck brings Hannibal back to reality and the warm body sleeping in his arms. Those things didn’t happen, and Face will be fine. Already he’s waking up for longer each time, more aware of what’s going on around him. Though he’s still very clingy, his pupils still blown wide when he cracks his eyes open a fraction.

“J’hn?” A sleepy murmur, and Hannibal leans down to press a reassuring kiss into bed-rumpled curls. 

“Right here, baby,” he whispers, rocking his lover slowly. “I’ve got you.”

“Hmm, got you too.” Strong arms tighten around his waist, Face somehow finding a way to move even closer. “You okay?”

“Am I okay?” Only Face could ask that question, always being so worried about the rest of the team despite his own condition. “I’m just fine, kid.”

“Murdock?” 

Hannibal pauses, not sure how to reply. He can still sense his pilot outside the bedroom door, hovering. “He’s fine,” he tells his lover softly. “Everyone’s fine. Just go back to sleep. Rest, and get your strength back.”

But Face is having none of that, and he struggles weakly in Hannibal’s arms until the colonel helps him sit up a little, guiding him back to rest against his chest. 

“Not his fault,” he tells Hannibal, trying to focus his eyes, and failing. “He’s okay?”

Clenching his jaw, Hannibal makes a decision. This is the most coherent Face has been yet, after four long days in which he has mostly been unconscious or deeply asleep. 

“Murdock,” he calls, as Face’s head rolls gently against his shoulder. “Get in here, would you?”

The handle turns ever so slowly before the door opens a few inches, and Murdock’s head appears in the gap. “Colonel? Is he – Is everythin’ okay?”

Face stirs, lifting one hand from where it rests on Hannibal’s stomach. His voice is little more than a whisper, though his words are free from that slur at last. “Come here, buddy. Please.” 

Hannibal makes sure the IV line is free and clear as Murdock pads across the room, perching on the edge of the bed and immediately taking the shaky hand Face reaches out to him. He remains silent and watches as the two younger men look at each other for a long moment.

Murdock looks wrecked, shaggy hair sticking out in all directions and face pale, except for the dark circles beneath his eyes and a healing bruise on the left side of his face from BA’s fist. Face doesn’t look much better, eyes still struggling to focus on his friend, but after another second they smile weakly at each other.

“I’m so sorry, Face,” Murdock whispers, eyes shining, and Hannibal can see again just how upset he is over the whole thing. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“Shh,” Face hushes his best friend before his eyes drift slowly shut, and Hannibal gives in to the urge to kiss his lover once again, just above the healing knot on his head. “I’m gonna be fine. Just an accident. Not your fault.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Murdock insists, though his words are a little stronger now, and the smile remains. 

Hannibal can see the moment Face’s hand loses its grip on Murdock’s, and he knows his lover is asleep once more, though both younger men are hopefully a little more at peace now they’ve spoken.

“Come on, fool,” BA whispers from the doorway, and Hannibal somehow manages not to jump. He hadn’t even realised the big guy was there. “Let him get some more sleep.”

Murdock goes without a fuss, giving his best friend’s hand back to Hannibal gently. “You need anythin’?” he whispers to them before closing the door, BA visibly hovering in the background, always watching, always the team’s protector.

But Hannibal just shakes his head, refocussing all his attention back to the man in his arms. “I got everything I need, thanks, Murdock. We’re going to be just fine.”

The door clicks closed and they are alone once more. He smiles as Face shifts slightly in his sleep, long arms sliding back around Hannibal’s waist and squeezing tightly. And he closes his eyes briefly, though he won’t be joining his boy in sleep. He will stay awake and he will watch, though everything really will be just fine, he knows, in time.

**Author's Note:**

> I found the first part of this story scribbled in an old notebook, and I think it was written about a year ago, possibly longer. Once I'd read it again I wanted to finish it, and so here it is! I haven't changed much at all from the first part, and I don't think my writing style has changed that much, so hopefully it will all fit together okay. Would love to know what people think. Thanks!


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